What Comes After
by lostsoul512
Summary: Because by some gruesome twist of fate Bruce Wayne was dead. And the four of them, his four children were left to fend for themselves.


**A/N: Hey guys~ So, somehow my Batman love has been resurrected, and this was the first product of it. Most likely going to be a oneshot, but we'll see. If you guys ask for more, maybe I'll do that. For the record, I know I have a terrible history of abandoning fanfiction, but it's only because I get distracted by the other fandoms. Anyway, here goes nothing. I still don't own Batman or any affiliated characters. **

**...**

He should have been there.

It was all he could think. He should have been there, should have stopped him, should have _saved_ him. And then maybe he wouldn't have been standing in an overly crowded room with people he didn't even know, staring at a fucking casket. He should have been there with him, watching his back-

"I know what you're doing, and you need to stop it."

An overly familiar voice drew him out of his thoughts, back into the crushing reality of the moment. Dick Grayson turned slightly, just enough to see a disgruntled Tim Drake standing behind him.

"I should have been there," Dick muttered, because it was all he could think to say. It was all he could think, period, actually. "I could have done something. I could have-"

"You could have wound up dead too," Tim said in that eerily calm and rational voice of his. Always the logical one, always the voice of reason when the rest of them were just constant emotional wrecks. Then, in an unexpected gesture, he reached out to place his hand gently on his shoulder. "I cannot fathom how much this is hurting you, Dick."

No, he was right, he couldn't. Dick had already lost everything. He had lost his parents and more friends than he cared to think of. Even if they were still alive, they were lost to him, and he was all alone here in a room full of people pretending they had any fucking right to be here at all.

He swore he started to open his mouth to say just that, but he never got a chance because before he could get out even a syllable, the doors opened to reveal a man in a faded leather jacket scanning the room. A slight scowl came over his face, but Dick focused on the lingering feeling of Tim's hand, hoping it would be enough to keep him calm.

"He has every right to be here," Tim reminded him, like he was reading his thoughts, like he was inside his head. It was frightening, actually, his ability to do that. "He's part of the family too, Dick."

Dick wasn't denying that he was. He just had a hard time letting go of that one time Jason had tried to kill them. Or the fact that he had stormed out of the manor one day and vanished for six months like that wasn't going to hurt them at all. Tim had removed his hand now, and so Dick had reverted to focusing on his breathing, biting back his anger so that he didn't say something he would regret and end up causing a scene.

Tim looked like he was going to try and offer up some more words of wisdom to the eldest of the brothers, when a smaller body came crashing into him, arms thrown around his waist. Dick braced himself before the pair of them went toppling right over. Not a second passed before he heard the quiet sobs rising up from the younger boy.

Exchanging a quick glance with Tim, Dick let out a long sigh and then lifted Damian up into his arms. "Hey, kiddo," he murmured quietly, shifting his hold so that he had a free hand to ruffle the boy's dark hair. "How're you holding up?"

Damian pulled away just enough to look up at him with wide, tear-stained eyes. "Is he really gone?"

Dick closed his eyes for a moment longer than necessary. How was he supposed to tell Damian this was real? How was he supposed to tell _himself _this was real? This wasn't supposed to be real.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see a second face, unnaturally close, crowding his vision field. "He's gone, kid," Jason Todd said, in a surprisingly gentle voice. Dick bit down hard at the insides of his cheeks, tightening his grip on the young boy in his arms. "But don't you worry. We are all gunna catch the guy that did this and make sure he pays." Jason straightened up and looked Dick straight in the eye. "All of us."

There was a thick moment of tension that Dick was sure all of them could feel, possibly even Damian, though he might not have understood why. Thankfully, and not for the first time, Alfred appeared almost out of nowhere to save the unlikely brothers. "Master Richard, I do believe we should take our seats now," he said in that crisp, final tone of his. Dick was thankful for the reason to get away from Jason. Setting Damian back on his feet, he instead took his hand and began leading him to the front of the room.

…

The casket was this massive, ornate thing. The kind of thing that Bruce Wayne the socialite would have loved. But the kind of thing that Bruce Wayne his father would have hated. At least, Jason thought he would have hated it. Then again, what did he really know? He wondered idly if Grayson had been the one to pick it out. Or maybe Alfred. Or maybe Bruce was the kind of guy that had his own coffin picked out in advanced. None would have surprised him.

He slid into the seat, front row, nothing between himself and that godawful casket. Closed, too, though he wasn't sure why. Tim was at his side, and he kept giving him all these reassuring little smiles. Every time, Jason had to force himself to look away just so he didn't have to think about that guilt that was still tearing him up over leaving.

He didn't expect his brothers to understand. It was just everything, the pressure and responsibility that always seemed to weigh over him. The expectation to be this perfect person. Now, he wasn't even sure if that had been real, or just an excuse he had made up to get the hell out. Jason tried to glance over at Dick, but the eldest was doing everything in his power to keep his own gaze pointing straight ahead. He couldn't even imagine how much this was tearing him up, but he was sure it was a hell of a lot more than the others.

The pastor was standing up in front of the room, giving some cliché speech. Jason knew he should have been paying attention, but all he could do was keep replaying the night he had left, like a bad movie on repeat in the back of his mind. Bruce trying to stop him from going, telling him to think of someone other than himself for once. Damian and Tim watching from the stairs, trying to stay out of sight, trying to make sense of what was going on. And Dick, standing in the background with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, just letting him go.

He had driven until the road was just a blur of pavement. He had gone from town to town, trying to put as much distance between himself and that godforsaken mansion. But it was always there in his thoughts and his dreams. So many nights, he thought about just turning around and going home. But he refused to seem that weak. He had wanted his independence, and now he had it. And it was the loneliest thing in the world.

Shaking his head to clear it of the thoughts and memories, he tried to refocus his attention. The death had been all over the news, of course, and from the back booth of a run down diner Jason had found out that the only father figure he'd ever really had was dead. It had seemed so impossibly surreal to him. Bruce Wayne couldn't die. _Batman_ couldn't die. But he just kept hearing it, or seeing it on the front pages of papers in shitty motels, and after two days it became a truth he knew he could no longer run from.

Jason had made record time getting back to Gotham. He had listened for news of a funeral, knowing that it would end up being this huge public ordeal full of people who didn't even know him. Then again, Jason had lived with Bruce for years and wasn't even sure he could say that he knew the man. Maybe nobody really knew him. Maybe that was part of his appeal and mystery and what made him seem so damn invincible.

The soft sound of crying caught his attention, and he turned to see Damian curled into Alfred's side, burying his face like he was embarrassed someone might call him out. Tim also seemed to have some silent tears rolling down his cheeks. But Dick, he was just staring blankly ahead. Seeing his brothers cry was about the final straw for Jason, and without a sound he rose from the chair and left the room.

The sun was blindingly bright and all wrong for the occasion. From the pocket of his jacket he fished a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out to light it. He focused on the smoke as it tore at his throat and lungs, as it left his mouth and danced up into the sky. Watched the little tendrils twist and float away until there was nothing left of them. For now, it was the best distraction he had.

Once he had finished that cigarette, he lit up another, and after that one he lit a third. Two drags into that one, he heard the door open behind him. Before he even really had time to react, a hand shot out to snatch the smoke right from his hold. "What happened to quitting?" Dick asked pointedly as he dropped it to the concrete and put it out with the toe of his shoe.

Jason watched him with a blank face. "I lied," he retorted.

Dick scoffed, even rolled his eyes a little. "Big surprise there," he grumbled.

A painfully long silence fell over them. Jason eyed the dark haired boy carefully, trying to get a read on him. But for as emotional as Dick tended to be, he was also incredibly good at shutting people out. That was definitely a trait he had picked up from Bruce. If there was anything their adopted dad could do best, it was block everyone out. Push them away until there was nothing left, until he was all alone. Jason sure as hell seemed to have mastered the art, anyway.

"Why did you come back?" Dick finally muttered, crossing his arms protectively as he looked at the ground below him. Jason ignored the question for a long while, and seriously contemplated pulling out another cigarette. Apparently, his lack of response was the wrong idea, because next thing he knew Dick was grabbing at the front of his plain grey shirt, pulling him in close and rough. "Why'd you come back, Jason?" He repeated, only this time his voice had raised a few octaves and he sounded frantic and desperate. "No, fuck that, why did you ever leave in the first place? How could you just write off your family, just leave us like we were nothing to you? You didn't even call. Do you have any idea how upset Bruce was? How long he searched for you, trying to convince you to come home? But, no, you just up and left, and you didn't even give us a reason. Damian cried for hours thinking you hated him. Tim wouldn't eat for a week. And I-"

Dick cut off abruptly, shoving Jason away from him. The younger of the two stayed where he was, at least once he caught his footing again. Clenched his fists at his sides, tried to do that thing where he focused on his breathing, _in out in out_, until he felt his own rage subsiding. The silence returned again, but this time it was Jason that broke it.

"I'm sorry, okay?" He grumbled under his breath. It wasn't something he said often; in fact, he could barely even think of any times off the top of his head. But he always meant it when he did. Dick turned around slowly, the look on his face one of both frustration and surprise. Like he was still undeniably pissed off, but he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard. Jason let out a heavy sigh, looking his brother in the eye. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I...I shouldn't have left...like I did. I shouldn't have abandoned you guys. And now…"

And now it was too late. Too late to apologize, too late to do anything at all because by some gruesome twist of fate Bruce Wayne was dead. And the four of them, his four children were left to fend for themselves.

A small frown creased Dick's brow. He closed the distance between them once more and in a quick movement pulled his brother into a tight hug. "I forgive you," he whispered, the words coming out muffled by the fact that his mouth was pressed into Jason's shoulder. When he backed away again, he cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair. "What are we going to do?" He asked. Jason didn't think he had ever heard him sound so defeated.

He made a fist with his hand, raising it in a threatening way. "We figure out what happened, and we-"

"And we what?" Dick cut in. "Throw away everything he taught us to avenge his death? That isn't what he would have wanted, and you know it."

Jason groaned, knowing that he was right. As usual. "Does anybody even really know what happened?" He finally asked. Being away had kept him out of the loop. But he refused to believe it had been something common like a car crash that had taken the life of his mentor.

Dick seemed lost in thought for a moment. Maybe painful ones. Maybe recounting what had happened in his mind. He was good at that, getting lost in his mind, dwelling on the things he had no control over. "All I know is that he was-"

"Master Richard." That familiar voice appeared from the doorway suddenly, cutting him off. After a moment, Alfred added, "Master Jason," with a slight nod of his head. "We are going to bury the casket now."

Dick nodded and without another word trailed off towards the church. Jason paused for only a moment before following after him.

…

It seemed like a lifetime before the four brothers made it back to the manor, though it was only a two or so hours. Dick carried Damian over the threshold into the house, with Tim and Jason both trailing behind him. Alfred was last, following closely and locking the door as soon as they were all inside.

"I'm going to lay Damian down," Dick told the others, moving towards the stairs.

"I don't wanna go to sleep!" Damian whined, gripping harder at the front of Dick's shirt. "What if something bad happens to us? Who is gunna keep us safe?"

Dick swallowed hard against the dull ache in his chest and did his best to smile for the youngest boy. "Jason and Tim and I aren't gunna let anything happen to you, kiddo," he said. He started to add an 'I promise', but the words just wouldn't come out. How could he promise something like that? How could be sure that he could keep them all safe, when someone as unstoppable as Bruce Wayne had been taken down.

Damian nodded a little and wiped at his eyes with the palms of his hands before resting his head onto Dick's shoulder and allowing him to head up the stairs. With every heavy step, Dick felt his heart breaking a little bit more inside his chest. This was all wrong. Somehow, the house felt empty without the foreboding presence of their pseudo-father. But Dick was determined, with every fiber of his being, not to let everything fall apart. Somehow, he would hold it together, whatever the cost, whatever it took. He owed Bruce that much.

While Dick was busy putting the child to bed, Jason was busy trying to stop the memory overload to his senses. Even if it had only been six months since he had been in this house, it felt to him like it had been a lifetime. Yet somehow, it felt like it had been only yesterday too. There were so many memories, so many moments, all taking over his mind at once. And above all was the moment he had left. The last time he had ever seen Bruce.

The last time he ever would.

"I'm glad you're home," came a quiet voice, pulling him out of his own head. Blinking a few times, Jason focused his gaze on the hopeful looking face of Tim. Jason dug his nails into the palms of his hands, finding relief in the quick flash of pain. He couldn't stand that innocent look, that face staring up at him like he was some kind of role model. "I- I mean, we all missed you," he added, looking down at his feet, a blush rising to his cheeks.

Jason swore he felt his own face reddening at the whole emotional situation. This whole day had just been one intense feeling after another. Something he was not at all used to dealing with. "Yeah, well," he muttered, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. "I guess I missed you too, kid. But don't tell anyone. I don't wanna ruin my reputation, okay?"

That got a smile out of the little brat. Good. After all that had been going on, he deserved to smile. "I won't tell, Jason," he assured the older of the two.

Cracking a slight grin of his own, Jason ran his hand through Tim's shaggy black hair. "Good. Now, why don't you go get some sleep? Maybe in the morning Alfred will make us waffles, like old times."

Tim's smile turned full blown, a bright vision he must have missed more than he'd realized. At least, that was what the tugging in his chest suggested. When Tim closed the distance to hug him goodnight, Jason tensed up against it. Apparently in his absence everyone had become a hell of a lot more touchy-feely. Then again, he couldn't really blame them. At least, not today.

Once Tim had trotted up the stairs and he was alone, Jason moved quietly through the house until he was in Bruce's study. Or what had been Bruce's study. He wondered what would happen to the house, to the stuff, to them. With Bruce gone, what were they going to do? He supposed that Damian owned the manor now, which was a terrifying prospect if he did say so himself. Although, Bruce had probably divided things up between the four of them somehow. But Wayne Manor had always belonged to a Wayne. And now Damian was parentless, just a child on his own, and the cycle would continue.

Jason just couldn't imagine the house any other way. This was his home, where he had grown up, practically. Where he had been raised, and taught to fight, and found some faith in a faithless world. After a moment, he moved over to the clock, pushing the hands to the proper time that would unlock the entrance to the Batcave. Taking a long, unsteady breath, he began his descent.

Jason lingered at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, his eyes moving around the massive, open space. Nothing had really changed at all, except for the fact that all the room held to him now was emptiness and painful flashbacks. His eyes fell upon the display case that held each suit, a perfect row, their whole family. He took a few hesitant steps in that direction, but stopped in place when he felt a hand fall heavily on his shoulder.

He wasn't even surprised when he saw Dick from the corner of his eye. "Not a whole lot has changed around here," Jason said, trying to stop them from falling into their usual silences.

Dick only gave him a solemn look. "Everything has changed, Jason."

The younger opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Dick cut in, offering the most bleak smile Jason had ever seen in his life. Then he turned away once more, and continued further into the room. Jason followed a few steps behind him, chewing at the insides of his cheeks without even noticing, until the taste of coppery blood filled his mouth.

The pair stopped right in front of the display case. Letting out an audible sigh, Dick raised his hand and pressed it against the glass, his blue eyes glossy as he stared up at the suit. "I don't think I can do it," he murmured, glancing at Jason from the corner of his eye.

Jason raised his brows a little. "I didn't realize anyone was expecting you to," he remarked dryly.

Dick gave him a helpless look. "I don't exactly have a choice."

Somehow, the younger of the two managed to hold his stare. "You always have a choice, Dick. No one is asking you to do anything. If you want to take on that responsibility, be my guest. You're about the only one in the world that can handle it right now. But I'm just saying, no one is telling you that this is what you need to do. You don't have to live up to some memory."

Dick was quiet for a long time, hand still on the glass, eyes still fixed on what lay before him. Not even just the suit, but the whole entire map of his future. "I just never thought it would even really happen, you know?" He said after a while. "I mean, sure there were times that Bruce mentioned it. If anything ever happened to him, and stuff like that. But I guess I just thought he was immortal or something."

"Yeah," Jason muttered, surprised by the hoarseness of his own words. "Yeah, I do know." He knew, because he had felt the same way. Bruce had come out of nowhere, had taken him in just as he had done for Dick and Tim. Had offered him a chance to be something better. Something worth being. But just because he was gone didn't mean any of those things were gone. Hadn't Bruce been the one that had said, even if he died, Batman was an ideal, Batman would live on? And suddenly it all made sense to him, the way Dick was feeling. That he had no choice. That this was something he had to do.

Managing to muster up something close to a smile, Jason reached out to pat his brother reassuringly on the shoulder. "You're gunna be great," he assured him. "I mean, as long as you can keep the Bat brats in check."

Some emotion that Jason couldn't quite place flickered across Dick's face. "You mean, as long as _we_ can," he corrected slowly, unsurely.

Jason froze for a moment, before relaxing and letting out a single laugh. "I'm not planning on going anywhere, Dick, I promise. I'll try and help you as much as I can."

That got a smile out of his older brother. Great. Everyone was just going to be on an emotional roller coaster around here for the next few weeks. Yet, the thought of being around for that didn't bother him as much as he had expected it to. He loved them, at least in the only way he knew how.

With a slight nod, Dick turned back to the glass case. "Alright," he murmured, or maybe only moved his lips to form the word. He couldn't help but feel like he was holding his breath, and he noticed that his fingers were shaking a little as he slowly started to slid it open. Something about that moment felt so infinite. Like he could see in that split second his entire future laid out before him. Once the case was open, he raised his hands towards the infamous cowl.

"Don't touch the suit."

Dick swore he almost jumped out of his skin. Or at least, he lost his balance from the sheer shock, and probably would have fallen right over if not for the fact that Jason's hand grabbed onto his arm.

Because there, standing behind them, was none other than Bruce Wayne.


End file.
